Villée

I am now getting back to Belgian beer after some time away. Tonight, we tried Villée, a collaboration between the Biercée Distillery and the Silly Brewery. Yes, yes, there’s a Belgian town called “Silly”, and you’re not the first to find that amusing.

The jester on the label offers no humour for us, but instead kicks off a debate before we even open the bottle. Fiona doesn’t like it: it’s too, um, well... silly, she says. I’m not so sure. It’s not the same as the gnomes, sprites and pixies you get on far too many Belgian beer labels, and about which I have moaned about here on this blog in the past.

At least jesters existed.

Taedonggang (North Korea)

One of the great things about working for an international organisation is the cross-cultural intellectual stimulation of interacting with colleagues based around the world. I learn so much from them all every day -- about politics, language, business and customs -- expanding my knowledge and understanding of people and societies in every corner of the globe. When we get together, it’s like a personalised, intensive course in foreign affairs, and I feel my mind sponge soaking up the wonders of humanity in all its glorious complexity.

Oh, and they sometimes bring me beer from some strange places.

The latest was from one of my colleagues covering North East Asia: a beer called Taedonggang from North Korea. (Thanks, Dan!)

Nigerian Guinness

I’m off to Nigeria early next year, and after handing in my visa application today, it seems an appropriate evening to crack open a bottle that’s been sitting in the “to try” crate for rather a while: Guinness Foreign Extra Stout from Nigeria.

Now, there are infinitely more qualified people out there who can tell you all about the history of how Guinness developed such a committed market in Nigeria, but one thing I can say: this is not your familiar Irish Guinness. For starters, it’s 7.5%. Be warned.

The initial aroma is sawdust, which is not entirely pleasant, I have to say. That carries into a slight cardboard note in the taste, which I suspect is a result of oxidation, probably exacerbated by the fact that I let this beer age too long.

Apart from that, Nigerian Guinness is sweet right from the start, followed by some of the stout elements you’d expect: burnt caramels and such. Not refreshing so much as nourishing. And intoxicating -- did I mention it’s 7.5%?

In any case, it’s certainly inviting. I am very much looking forward to trying it in its homeland...

Gulpener HerfstBok

Readers who pay attention to this blog will notice that I haven’t been. Well, not very much lately anyway. Since the end of summer, it has been pretty mad at the day job, and after a few months of rapid-fire tastings during the warm months, it seemed a good time to cool down for a bit.

And go on a diet.

Lost five kilos, thanks for asking.

But somewhere in the blur of life that was October -- at a moment when I was off in the Dutch countryside at a staff retreat, in fact -- I did manage to try a new beer, Gulpener HerfstBok, and took some notes too.

Herkenrode Bruin: second shot

This is one I’ve tried before -- and not long ago, in fact -- but I wasn’t overly impressed, which was a bit of a shame, I thought at the time, because their Herkenrode Tripel is very good. Anyway, the brewery saw my original post and reckoned I must have got a bad bottle of the Bruin, and they very kindly sent me a few new ones to give it a second chance.

So, I sat down with a few friends one afternoon a while back and popped them open.

Indeed, it didn’t taste much like I had remembered. It was still thin in body as I’d noted, but this Herkenrode Bruin was much more pleasant overall.

Three last podcasts from the American summer

At long last, I am finally ending the great summer of American tastings with these three podcasts from the Beerly Coherent series: Yeti Imperial Stout, Peak Organic Nut Brown Ale, and Weyerbacher Heresy.

Spas, tattoos & mystery lagers

We had another lovely few of days in Aachen, Germany, which as always included a trip to the spa. As I was relaxing in the waters, however, I had a rather disturbing thought about aging.

It occurred to me that I am from an era you might call BT, or “before tattoos”. Not exactly, of course, as tattoos are probably older than Sumeria, which surely dates back before 1968. But I come from a time before tattoos were ubiquitous.

Watching people in the spa very quickly tells me what generation I belong to.

HB Münchner Sommer

Among all the American beers we enjoyed on our summer holiday, there was one lone non-US brew: HB Münchner Sommer, which we tried at Loreley Restaurant & Biergarten in Manhattan.

It’s unfiltered, and it thus appears cloudy. The taste is wonderfully lemony and refreshing, just what’s needed for a shopping break in the summer heat. Very good.

American beers seem to be following me

Going away on holiday is great, of course, but really, we may have overdone it on the tasting notes from our US trip. With so many, I’d ideally use them to stretch out my blog posts on American beers over a couple months. But there are new American tastings on the horizon, some here in Belgium (more on that at the end of this post), so I’ve got to clear the deck.

Where to start, where to start...

Three American pale ales

Step by step, I am slowly clearing the back log of tasting notes from our holiday in the US. It would seem we sampled 61 different brands in the three weeks we were there, which I think you’ll agree is a pretty good innings.

When it comes to pale ales, I’ve already mentioned the very tasty Smuttynose Shoals Pale Ale, the delicious Kona Fire Rock Pale Ale, and the lovely Captain Lawrence Fresh Chester Pale Ale, in addition to various labels of the sub-species known as IPA.

To that tally, let me add three more.

Not your old American lager

Not long ago, “American lager” meant a pale, thin, fizzy, soda-like substance. Compared to its Bavarian or Czech ancestors, the US brews seemed watered down, diluted to nearly homeopathic “no active ingredient” levels.

Then, in my personal timeline anyway, came Samuel Adams Boston Lager, offering richer flavours: deeper maltiness and an unashamedly bitter finish. Over the years, it has deservedly become a classic of the quality beer scene in the States -- so popular, in fact, and produced in such quantity, that some apparently started to wonder if it could still be called a “craft beer”. In any case, Boston Lager surely deserves the moniker, “gateway craft beer”, because for many people, this is the first step on a life-long love affair with quality brews.

But now, all sorts of things seem to be going on with “American lager”, and there’s a range of flavours within, from the solid, simple and traditional, to the wild and weird. Here’s a few we tried this summer.

Ending my anti-can snobbery

As anyone who’s ever read this blog before understands, I don’t really know a whole lot about beer. Even after sampling many hundreds of different brands, I still find myself struggling desperately in my amateur efforts to describe them.

Still, my deep ignorance hasn’t stopped me from becoming something of a beer snob. Indeed, it has probably accelerated the process.

Take my attitude toward beer in cans, for example. Despite my family connections to the home of such modern conveniences, I have always seen canned beer as a down-market, overly fizzy and taste-damaged product. I swore I could detect the metallic element to the taste. Even when I probably couldn’t.

You wouldn’t catch me with a can in my hand, no sir.

I was forced to reverse this prejudice a few weeks ago, however, when I tried Sixpoint Bengali Tiger IPA. It comes from a can, but there is nothing tinny about this one at all.

In fact, it’s a very fine IPA, with a lively floral aroma and pine notes in the flavour. It’s not too carbonated either. Super yum.

Despite being from a can.

Lagunitas backlog

The catch-up on tasting notes from our American holiday goes on... Today, let me add some additional beers from California brewer Lagunitas, makers of the fine Lagunitas IPA and the outstanding Hop Stoopid, reviewed earlier.

Lagunitas Imperial Stout pours darker than tar in a cave at night. Nona dubs it, “a black milk shake”. Indeed. Flavours include burnt malt, ripe fig, prune juice and, oh so amazingly, roasted ginger. Excellent stuff.

Lagunitas Wilco Tango Foxtrot seems to be a kind of light stout, with a very strong maltiness, trending into molasses and something medicinal. It’s got a sticky mouthfeel combined with a biscuit note, as well as hints of creamed spinach and candy canes, all ending in a sour aftertaste. I was struck speechless by this one, to be honest. Maybe its complexity simply overwhelmed me.

More from Dogfish Head

On our summer trip to the US, we tried loads of beers from Delaware-based brewer Dogfish Head, one of the drivers of America’s great craft beer renaissance. There were super-hop IPAs like Dogfish Head Squall IPA and Dogfish Head 60-minute IPA; stranger offerings, like the historic beers, Theobroma and Midas Touch; and, of course, the astounding Bitches Brew.

But that was not all. Oh no.

We also tested Dogfish Head Raison D’ Être, which pours chestnut brown and has an aroma similar to Belgium’s Palm Royale. The flavour is not a million miles away from it either, though less sweet. Bob found a note of dark raisins, though the label says green raisins, while I was thinking it was more like blueberries. Bob also thought he detected an aftertaste of asparagus. The alcohol (8%) seems a bit too strong, that is burning and out of balance.

Much better was Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale. Already a favourite of Bob’s, it’s not brown so much as black and dark. The aroma first hits you with an old fruitbowl air, and the flavour darts back and forth between an IPA and a stout. There’s a definite pumpkin note in the middle -- nothing subtle about it: it’s like sticking your head into a carved jack-o-lantern. And then there’s a whiff of maple syrup. Very interesting. Very good.

Dogfish Head 90 Minute Imperial IPA does not seem to do much on aroma, but it whacks you around the head and shoulders with the flavour of strawberries. The aftertaste is lingering, with something like a Sharpie pen hit of gorgeous, lasting hops.

Smutty memories

About 25 years ago, I spent the summer on the Isles of Shoals, a collection of rocky outposts off the coast of New Hampshire and Maine. I was doing courses in marine science on Appledore Island, to be specific, which is just across a narrow channel from Smuttynose Island, namesake of today’s beers.

The brewery is not on the island, of course. About the only thing out there, apart from the ghosts of the victims of an 1873 axe murder, are a bunch of seals. Smuttynose Brewing Company is located in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, which has fewer seals flopping around its streets, as I recall, and hopefully fewer ghosts as well.

I used to be rather excited by a life at sea, and for me, the Isles of Shoals were really inspirational, influencing so many of my study and work moves in the years immediately after. From there, I found my way on to research boats, then on to traditionally rigged sailing schooners, plying the waters between Newfoundland and the Caribbean.